Secrets of Your Closet

By Peyton Landry

Blurred Lines Series – Book 2- Secrets of Your Closet

Romance author, Miranda Howarth, continues to bask in her fairy tale with Spencer Hayes, exploring and challenging not just her own sexuality but her love for him, but her romance writer’s intuition causes her to question not only Spencer’s fidelity but his long-time friendships.
Corbin Macintyre and Mark Castille work to protect their own deep and abiding love for each other as they aide Miranda with the writing of her newest erotic novel.
But a large part of Spencer’s past is woven into Corbin and Mark’s, and when something breaks that can’t be fixed, Corbin, Mark, and Spencer are not immune to the pain it unleashes.
The walls close in and time runs, and no one can control which secrets slip from the closet and which remain hidden.It’s something that has the men scrambling for not just answers, but clarification to the question... can fairy tales really last?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peyton Landry
• Release date: Nov 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781775083412

Peyton Landry

Peyton is the author of the Blurred Lines Series of blended erotic romances, mixing LGBTQ and straight love stories into one steamy book. She is married and lives in southern Ontario with her high school sweetheart, two teenagers, and two rescued cats. She enjoys writing while outside, lounging in a Muskoka chair no matter what the Canadian weather brings, and her love of Canada and hockey keeps her novel settings genuinely Canuck, and the score usually in favour of the Maple Leafs.

Book preview

Title

To my husband: words can’t express just how grateful I am. I love you. Always have. Always will.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter One

Decor

Miranda Howarth

The silence in my modest home against Lake Ontario’s south shore is unsettling. The absence of my dog has had a profound effect on what had once been a warm space. I can feel the void left by her death in my heart, but it resonates in the air around me as well. I expected it. What I didn’t expect was the reach of it. The emptiness is everywhere, clinging to rooms, furniture, the yard. Clinging to my skin.

It’s only Sunday, but it feels like a lifetime ago since I woke Friday night to find her suffering on the floor of my bedroom. A lifetime of events has happened since, and bewildering doesn’t come close to describing the last forty-eight hours of my life.

Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own tonight? I’ll stay if you need me to. Actually, I’d like to stay, Miranda.

I need to do this. I have no choice but to tackle this. And I think I need to do it alone.

Spencer’s concern is warming, but his on your own comment stings. It reminds me that I am alone—I had a vacant home with no dog greeting me when I came in—and I find I have to fight tears yet again. Spencer Hayes may be the perfect man, the ideal man for me, but outside of this relationship, the life I had before him has been blown apart by the loss of my dog. I’ve lost everything I once had and everything I was. The mental picture that was my life before Spencer has vanished as well. It’s as if I’m at a starting line, leaving everything I was behind. With what’s happened to me, I guess it’s not surprising, even if it is unsettling.

I wish you would stay with me tonight, he whispers, coming to me and giving me a tender kiss on the forehead before taking me in his arms. You just agreed to marry me. It doesn’t seem right to be apart tonight. And I’ll worry about you.

I smile and let his concern warm me, but I couldn’t stay at his place. I needed to come home. I need time to adjust to this new sensation. I also need time to digest the notion that I now have a fiancé.

In the short time I’ve known him, I have come to love every part of the complex, magazineworthy blond god in front of me. I love him deeply. But my agreement to marriage was quick, which is out of character for me. Nonetheless, I can’t hide at his place forever. I need some of the space Spencer claimed he would give me last night. Just for tonight.

You’re too good to me, Spencer. I told you before. You’ll spoil me, and it only lasts in romance novels. In real life, it’s difficult to maintain. I laugh when he frowns at my raw statement of truth. Sorry. In real life, I’m a realist. When writing romance novels, I’m a romantic. They seldom gel.

I love your laugh, he says, rocking me. It makes me feel that this degree of adoration could last forever.

I want to work on my book tonight. I’m ready to start, so I have to email my literary agent.

I’m proud of you, he sighs, always amazed by me. I’ve never doubted your ability to do this. You are such a gutsy woman.

Those words warm me further. And I am ready to start this next project, and I think I will do it well. As much as my time in Toronto yesterday was overwhelming, I’ve found the inspiration to start writing in a new genre through the experience. A sit-down with a bunch of gay men has helped, but Corbin Macintyre’s personal storytime has exploded the possibilities for this book in my mind. However, I have no intentions of telling Spencer that his long-time friend, the man he introduced me to for help with my book, has been as helpful as he has.

I never thought I would take Donna up on the offer of filling a hole for m/m erotica in her list, but I think I should tell her to hold on to her hat! I laugh again, wanting to boost my confidence further and find a lighter mood, and it brightens Spencer’s handsome face. I let the same sigh of wonder fall from my lips.

Forever? he whispers.

I smile. I love you. So forever… but not quite yet, right? I check, just to make sure he doesn’t think his incredible lovemaking after I arrived at his house this morning has pushed me for a tighter timeline for marriage. Someday, someday soon quieted my panic of the unexpected proposal. It’s what I needed because tomorrow seemed as crazy as the entire ride that has become my life since meeting Spencer at the beginning of September.

I don’t like it, but if time is what you need, as I said, I will give it to you.

My smile becomes a grin, and I squeeze his tight ass. It’s the first sign of his promised patience, and I love him even more for it. You have to leave. If not, I may begin writing a romance between a bestselling author and an eye-catching, sexy criminal lawyer who has gay friends. I laugh, pushing him away, but not before he steals my breath with a kiss.

Am I taking the Spider home?

I study the soft expression of the blue-eyed Adonis standing in my living room. Would he actually leave the Alfa Romeo for me? Would he show up for work tomorrow using my red Mini Cooper, or even worse, his winter-beater jeep? He followed me the thirty minutes from his place in Jordan Station to Niagara-on-the-Lake just to ensure I was okay arriving home to no dog, and he has played passenger before, letting me drive the car—which was orgasmic each time—but would he really leave his beloved car with me for a day or two?

I can borrow it? Really?

He nods. If you want it, it’s yours. When you marry me, it will be yours anyway. Everything I have will be yours.

The car is without a doubt a perk, but I don’t care about the rest of his hard-earned wealth. That’s not all he is to me. He’s not a dollar sign. "Can I have you in the car?"

He finally laughs. You can have me anywhere you want me. Where to first?

You’re terrible.

I know. But honestly, are you going to be okay here tonight?

Writing will take my mind off things. It always does. I’ll be okay. And I try to determine if it’s a lie.

He steals more of my breath with a tender kiss that feels like he’s missing me already. I love you, he whispers.

I love you, too.

I like the sound of that. Are you sure you don’t need me?

I’ll always need you. But neither of us will get any sleep if you stay.

He grins a wide, white grin. I know. I like the sound of that, too.

I need time and sleep. We went over this.

And it’s still a no to a visit with your parents tomorrow?

I pout. He means well, but telling my parents I’m engaged is something best done solo. Other than me sharing the odd comment of being out with the same guy, my parents have been in the dark as to what’s happened in my life in the last five weeks. You need to work, and it’s best to break them in gently. I’m not hiding you, I just have to pick the best time to reveal you. I roll my eyes at my silliness.

I get it. I’ll leave it alone.

My neck is nuzzled, my lips are warmed yet again, and my ass is squeezed. I love it, but if he keeps it up we will end up in bed.

Go, I whisper, finding everything in me to push him away.

Okay. Don’t scratch the car, or I will paddle your ass pink…

With that soft plagiarized threat from one of my early sappy romance novels, and another kiss, he’s gone, and I’m left with a deafening silence and stillness to the air that chills me. And it makes me realize that I did lie to Spencer. I’m not okay. I miss my dog.

Corbin Macintyre

I look up because I can feel Mark’s dark eyes on me, and I smile when I see him—his muscled body leaning on the doorframe of the den, his chest bare, his beautiful eyes hungry.

I have about an hour of work left. Can you give me that? I’m finalizing the first set of Wittmann’s architectural drawings. I need them ready for the morning. I worry since the once bright den is now lit only by my desk lamp. It means Monday is creeping up on me fast.

Mark nods, setting his butt to the wall, resting his hands behind him. It shows off his ripped arms and shoulders as he smiles at me. You didn’t hear the house phone ring, did you?

I shake my head. I’ve been lost in work since I got out of bed for the second time today at four this afternoon. After dealing with Spencer’s tirade about our friend Liv and the Kennedy contract this morning, and then Liv’s desperate plea for help dealing with Spencer, I had to go back to bed.

My explanation to Spencer of what happened with Miranda on her overnight stay in Toronto was not great, either. He was annoyed that I went ahead—against his wishes—to set up a gay sit-down with our friends to help Miranda with her newest writing endeavor. But he was furious that I allowed her to go to John England’s after the meeting to talk to a few of the men who attend his sex parties. However, nothing tops his reaction when I informed him that one of John’s regulars manhandled Miranda while she was there. I’ve never heard the charming, disciplined lawyer—my friend since childhood—so unhinged. The protective streak he has developed over the last few weeks for his romance writer runs deep and wide now.

The sleep did me some good, though. My headache was gone when I got up, but the wild events of last night and this morning have taken up space in my mind, even while I’ve worked.

The call was Miranda. She had to hang up because her literary agent was calling, but she said she would call back.

I relax, and some of the weight of the day vanishes. It’s been hours since she left our guest room, and we hadn’t heard from her or Spencer, so I’ve been concerned.

Miranda had a turbulent Saturday with the loss of her dog, the sit-down, John’s party, and a jackass putting his hands on her. My detailed storytelling this morning was the topper on the crazy cake. And with Spencer’s anger toward Liv and her uncharacteristic threats to expose his reckless past to Miranda, I have no idea what greeted Miranda when she arrived at Spencer’s after leaving here.

Was she all right?

Mark shrugs. She didn’t talk long before she had to go. She sounded okay but distracted, like you. He smiles as if knowing how muddled my mind is today. But Mark’s assessment doesn’t offer much comfort.

I hope Miranda can still look at me without cringing. I got a little carried away this morning, hoping to inspire her to begin writing, and I used the only thing I had in the realm of romance—me and Mark. I shared what it’s like to be with him after nine years, as well as our first time making love… the first time I let Mark take my ass. Storytime got graphic, and maybe a little too explicit for her innocent ears, and that still worries me. I’d like to know where her mind is.

Erotica was never part of her professional vocabulary, and her personal vocabulary is just as innocent and limited. The idea of tackling gay sex in the pages of a book has been unnerving and intimidating for her. But if she hoped to save her failing writing career, she had to explore the subject, and what better way than talking with men who live it.

As much as she spooks easily, over the last few weeks she was becoming comfortable with the notion of writing gay erotica and everything else gay, but I think yesterday and this morning blew her socks off. And not necessarily in a good way.

I don’t want to deal with any backlash from my storytelling, as I could be helping her for the next few months if she gets her book off the ground, so I will just have to hope that she was okay with the descriptive sex and that she didn’t tell Spencer I shared it.

I decide not to worry about it until I know for sure. Maybe we can do something tomorrow night after work. Just you and me, I suggest to Mark since we’ve lost our typical Sunday of lying in bed, fucking, reading, and talking. Next Monday is Thanksgiving, and you’re on call at the hospital all weekend. Today was a complete writeoff, so if we’re going to salvage any personal time we need to do it now. These next couple of weeks will be late days at the office for me. The weekends might vanish as well with this project.

Mark watches me in silence, his dark brown eyes saying nothing and everything. He wants me to drop everything and come to bed. The fact that his black cotton pajama pants are hanging low on his lean hips does nothing to hide his impressive semi.

I promise I will come up, an hour, maybe less. If Miranda is calling back, I want to wait.

He sighs, pushing his weight from the wall. I have to call home anyway. I’ll do it from my cell.

Mark leaves, knowing I won’t be offering a hello or how you doing to his old-fashioned Southern parents. The fact that they don’t know who I am is the biggest reason; the other is I know little about them, even though Mark and I have been together since university.

I know the names of Mark’s three sisters and two of their respectable, acceptable husbands, as well as one deadbeat husband who likes to beat his wife. I know nieces and nephews’ names, and I have seen a random picture, but not much more. Nonetheless, I do know the Castille family won’t be coming to Canada to enjoy Thanksgiving with us next weekend.

I shake my head at the differences between our families. My family has embraced Mark since the moment I brought him home. He is loved as one of my parents’ own, and at times I think Mom and Dad actually love him more—which is fine with me because Mark needs it.

My three sisters worship Mark as if he is some deity who knows all. My brothers-in-law love his useless knowledge of stupid sports trivia. My nieces and nephews thrill over the fact that my boyfriend is foreign, as if Louisiana is somewhere close to Transylvania. Although, when Mark gets going with his accent and slang it might as well be. But Mark sounds like the rest of us now. He has a Canadian accent if anything, not his slow Southern drawl that is well concealed, or possibly lost forever.

I blame my family’s behaviour on their reverence that he’s a doctor. The fact that he’s a pediatric surgeon makes the pull harder to fight. The reality that he deals with sick little bodies makes him far too endearing, especially to my sisters. But his career choice and his family also keeps our life together hidden, and that pains me even though I understand it.

The house phone ringing pulls me from my thoughts, and I run to the kitchen to get it.

Corbin?

Miranda’s soft feminine voice makes me smile. Yeah. Hi. Are you okay? You had me worried all day. I wasn’t sure if you made it home.

She pauses before she answers. Spencer said he would call this morning to let you know.

Fuck. Not this. I don’t want to cover for him, but I don’t want to get tangled in the middle of this any more than I already am. Maybe it’s on the machine. I never looked.

I know there’s no message. I haven’t spoken to him since Olivia arrived this morning, threatening and waving her contract for another baby. I’m sure Spencer’s silence today is my punishment for concealing Miranda’s visit into the city yesterday and introducing her to friends he didn’t want her exposed to yet, as well as allowing her to go home with John to talk with his partygoers.

How are you? I change the subject, staying away from hidden friends, hidden pasts, and hidden children.

I’m… good. More or less. I went to Spencer’s first but then asked him to bring me home. I needed to see how quiet it was. How bad it was going to be.

And?

When she doesn’t answer me, I answer for her.

It’s too quiet, isn’t it?

Her sad sigh is rough. Too quiet for my liking, yes.

And that’s why I prefer goldfish. No poop in the yard, and they act like you don’t exist.

Her laugh is weak, but I can tell she appreciates my attempt to lighten her spirits.

Listen, I hope I’m moving to a more pleasant topic, and tell me if I’m not, but Mark said your agent called.

She did. Miranda’s grin is easy to hear in her voice. "She was surprised I was going to write something different. She’s excited to see what I’ll come up with. It’s a good start. Now, after more than a month of research, I just have to start."

She’s moving me on to the topic I would prefer to ignore. Are you okay with what when on? You know… this morning. My narrative got way out of hand. I don’t want it to interfere with our friendship. Please tell me we’re okay.

Truth?

I groan. It’s not going to be good. Truth, please. Always.

I could have stopped you. If I wanted to, I could’ve walked away at any moment or told you it was too much information. But I’m not sorry I listened to you. It was beautiful. The two of you together like that sounded beautiful. I got lost in it. I could sense and imagine all of it.

That thrills me. It was what I hoped for.

I… I can’t put it into words, and as a writer that sounds stupid, I know, but, your bodies are so similar, your lines… comparable. When your spoke of your power in bed together, it seemed equal. You guys look gorgeous simply standing beside each other, and in bed, naked, I’m sure it looks like… art. She laughs at her description. There was love and deep attachment involved in what I heard from you. You were right before—that’s not what I see or feel when I watch any of the gay porn out there, even the mushy stuff. It’s hot but has no spark of emotion, just… testosterone, I guess. After imagining you and Mark together like you described, the sex in my head not only looked different, but it felt different as well. It was real. And it was powerful.

I let all the air in my lungs go on a painful exhale. You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that.

She laughs again. What? That I think you’re gorgeous?

I grin. I can picture her soft blush. I already know you think I’m gorgeous, I tease her. The twinkle in your brown eyes when you look at me is hard to miss, but it’s always ego boosting to hear it, and I’m happy you approve of my taste in men. But seriously, I’m relieved it didn’t send you screaming and judging.

Never, she says with conviction. I’m open to this. I told you that from the beginning when Spencer first introduced us. That’s why I’m calling tonight. I wanted to know if you’re ready to be bombarded with more of my emails and phone calls to help me get through this book.

"As long as there is a huge Corbin rocks in the credits, I will help any way I can."

We delve into a discussion of what she has planned for her book, which she has never disclosed to me or anyone else before. She shares many of the plot twists she has in mind as well as the protagonist’s backgrounds and personalities, looking for my final stamp of approval on whether her picture of her two main guys will fly.

It’s late by the time we wrap things up. Mark will have fallen asleep long ago. So much for that highlight to my day—I was hoping to make the sheets sticky again. I pout, but Miranda sounds better than when we started the phone call, so it gives me a bit of peace in an otherwise chaotic day.

You’re going to be okay tonight?

I hear her soft hum of agreement. Spencer does it all the time; it’s his version of yes while he’s thinking. He probably adopted it for use in a courtroom—acknowledgment without the full commitment of the word. Miranda has been with him such a short time and she’s already picked up some of his habits. I’m thrilled for both of them, but as a long-time friend of Spencer’s, I need to kick his ass for possibly fucking this up. At this point, I’ll be surprised if he can even keep Miranda in his life.

He never wanted a girlfriend. He never wanted a relationship. I still can’t believe he went to a bar looking for it in the first place since speed dating is not his style. Now that he has it, he has no idea what to do with it. I never thought two gay guys would have to school a straight couple on how to make things work, but that’s what Mark and I are having to do with them.

Before you go, Miranda. I wanted to make sure Spencer was okay with you when you saw him this morning? The only thing I hear is the faint buzz of dead air on the line. Miranda… I scold her. You know why I’m asking.

All our conversations have been open and honest, driven by the personal nature of her questions related to her book. She sought me out to explain gay relationships, sex, and what goes on within my community, and it’s hard to keep private things out of that. And we have talked about her relationship with Spencer. We have been candid—and I was really candid this morning—so my question concerning her safety with Spencer is in no way out of line.

Liv’s threat from this morning that she would tell Miranda everything hidden in Spencer’s past if he didn’t donate sperm spooked Spencer and raised his already elevated concerns of Miranda leaving him because of his jaded past. I’ve been concerned with the shape Spencer was in when Miranda got to his place since he’s been scared before, worried that she would leave him. And the sex that followed that event was driven by every bit of the passion Spencer feels for Miranda, and it ended with a bruised cheek for the love of his life. Unintentional, but it hurt nonetheless. It rattled both of them.

When I arrived at Spencer’s this morning, I told him about having to put Pepper down on Friday. He was upset that I didn’t call him for backup when I had the vet here in the middle of the night.

Rightfully so. You needed someone. If it was me, Mark would have been my first phone call. The woman is too damn proud sometimes. She’s pigheaded to let anyone see her weak, and road-blocking when she should be asking for help.

Well, I got through it, she says, sounding teary. I also told Spencer where I was and what I was doing yesterday. He wasn’t angry about it, just concerned about my night in Toronto and questioning why I didn’t tell him what I was doing.

I beg to differ. Spencer was a lot more than concerned when I told him what Miranda had been doing with her Saturday afternoon and evening. At least I caught his anger, not her. I can handle him.

But he didn’t hurt me in any way, Corbin. It wasn’t like that. Our lovemaking this morning was… just… intense.

Her voice wavers, so I push for more because he was intense when he hurt her a few weeks ago. He came at her with everything he had, and Miranda is far from Spencer’s normal woman when it comes to a bed buddy. Miranda may look the part, but she’s not seasoned in any way. And she has a brain.

Intense how?

It wasn’t a big deal. I’m okay.

Did you tell him Derrick attacked you at John’s?

No way, he would have blown, but… he asked me to marry him this morning and… I said yes.

What?

She releases a big breath as if her answer shocks even her. I know, it sounds stupid that I agreed, but I do love him. He wanted to do it immediately, but I refused, so we’ve left it that we are engaged with no plans to marry in the imminent future.

Miranda, I gasp, hoping that I don’t sound unhappy for her. But Liv’s push for Spencer to donate sperm for another baby with her has everything to do with Spencer’s urgency to marry Miranda. Liv’s threating to expose the parentage of her daughter who shares Spencer’s DNA if he doesn’t donate this time is the reason behind his panic.

He wants Miranda tied to him. And he’s still weaving a fairy tale for his romance writer to keep her close, thinking that he can’t do it on his own since he considers his past a nightmare, not a dream.

Spencer wanted nothing in the realm of traditional in his personal life until Miranda. She has turned him upside down and inside out, and Liv wanting another baby after ten years has made him panic—worse than he already was.

I know, I know. Miranda sighs at my shock. He got me at a weak moment, but I don’t regret it. I just needed time to settle his irrational anxiety that I’m going to leave him for some reason, and I need time to find my footing as well. This is all so new. Saying yes has given me that time, and it’s settled Spencer, too.

I hang my head, slumping against the kitchen cupboards. What the hell is Spencer doing? Damn I wish he had listened to me. How he plans on hiding all of us and his past from Miranda is mind-boggling. It’s not possible. He has a darker closet than most gay men, but he won’t be able to hide the light switch for long.